How Sustainable Are We?

Do you think about sustainability? I do--for nonprofit organizations, animal life, plants, and yes, my lifestyle. I live in a beautiful suburban neighborhood in a little 60s ranch house with big trees and a garden I've spent seven years creating. In Mexico, eight family members would live with me. We'd raise some of our own food on the land. I buy cooked, sliced chicken at Costco that comes in a plastic resealable bag that isn't recyclable. But it's convenient.

I also think about privilege (race, religion, gender, socioeconomic class, heterosexuality, gender role identification, education, body shape/size... the list goes on and on) and how it affects sustainability. Clearly, those who have privilege get to make the rules at the expense of the have-nots, even if that means we ruin it for others. Throwing away trash, throwing away recyclables, throwing away productivity, throwing away people.

Oh, I do "my part"--don't get me wrong. I recycle more than I throw away. I buy used cars. I shop at the thrift store and get perfectly usable stuff for $3.50 instead of $35.00. I check out books at the library rather than buying new ones. With my money and my time, I support nonprofits that promote economic self-sufficiency and sustainability for women and girls. I make changes in my language to change perceptions about those who do not have privilege.

But my part seems so, so tiny.

Peace on the Plains

Over the Memorial Day weekend, Gary and I went birding on the plains east of Denver. I know, I know--it's kind of strange to spend a beautiful sunny day out on the windy prairie in the middle of nowhere. But we have a knack for picking trips that place us exactly where no one else is. And it was the right choice.

Driving on highways and dirt roads that ascend into the great big empty blue sky was pretty close to Nirvana for me. We added at least a dozen birds to our life list and saw environments and bird behavior that we'd never seen before. We glassed pronghorns that were watching us from miles away. We talked about everything and nothing. My thoughts were clear and sharp and then altogether gone.

Our last stop was the Ramah Reservoir, which you would never find unless you were looking really, really hard for it. As we drove up, I was thinking plains + water = trillions of mosquitos, right? But there was a stiff breeze, and I didn't see them at all. We stepped down from the parking area about two feet to start walking toward the lake, and I was immediately enveloped by a hum so loud and so big I felt like I had walked into an alternate universe. There they were. If a bird would fly with his mouth open, he'd have his dinner in thirty seconds flat.

The prairie wind drove pioneer women insane, and after having spent a day out there, I could see why. It's relentless, and it blows dirt into every crevice. But it also keeps away the bugs.